Dungeon Break Chapter 4 The United Kingdom (Patreon)

London, England, United Kingdom

London's sky had turned into a killing field as Jets screamed over the river Thames in tight formation, contrails carving harsh lines through smoke and ash. Below them, Westminster Bridge had already vanished under a thick sheet of ice. Cars sat trapped in frozen traffic. Streetlights were entombed. People who hadn’t escaped in time were trapped in blue-white frost where they had fallen.

Above it all, the Grave Tyrant Drakon ruled the air. Its skeletal frame cut across the clouds with a weight that made every pilot’s stomach twist. Bone wings beat with force, torn membranes still pushing it forward with terrifying stability. Cyan-green light pulsed inside its chest cavity, visible through the gaps in its ribs. Every time the core brightened, the air temperature dropped further.

“The dragon’s turning!” A pilot shouted through comms, voice tight. “It’s on me—!”

The Drakon’s head snapped, horns cutting through the wind, jaw opening wider than any animal should as frost gathered in its throat. The pilot saw the glow begin and his body reacted before his mind could finish the thought.

“BREAK! BREAK! BREAK!” He yelled as his jet rolled hard left.

But he was too slow as a cone of frozen breath ripped across the sky and caught the tail end of another aircraft. Ice crawled over the wings in an instant. The jet shuddered, lost it’s impulse, then dropped in a steep fall. The pilot’s scream clipped into static as the aircraft slammed into a block of buildings in South Bank, erupting into fire.

“Eagle Two is down!” Someone yelled.

The squadron leader gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached. Sweat ran into his eyes despite the freezing air in the cockpit. “Keep it away from the center! Drag it east! We can’t let it circle back over the city!”

“We’re out of options!” A wingman barked. “Missiles aren’t hurting the beast!”

Another pilot fired anyway because doing nothing felt worse as the missile streaked and detonated against the Drakon’s shoulder with a bloom of flame. But the Drakon didn’t flinch as the explosion washed across bone plating and dissipated. The creature’s head rotated toward the shooter with slow certainty, as if it had finally decided which insect to crush first. The pilot’s hands tightened on the stick. His heart slammed against his ribs as it stayed locked.

“Eagle Four, disengage!” the leader shouted. “DISENGAGE!”

Eagle Four tried but the Drakon surged forward and closed distance with a single powerful beat of its wings. Teeth like broken swords snapped inches behind the jet’s tail. The pilot shoved the throttle to max with warning lights screamed but the jet rattled as the dragon’s claws raked the air, clipping the edge of a wing and metal tore off causing the jet to lurched sideways.

The pilot fought the spin, breathing hard, eyes wide. He forced the nose up and clawed back into level flight. But the Drakon followed, patient and relentless as it didn’t rush like a beast.

Across the skyline, other aircraft tangled with smaller winged invaders. Tracer fire stitched the clouds. Helicopters banked low over rooftops, trying to keep swarms away from evacuation routes. London’s airspace had become a war no one had trained for.

And the worst part was that everyone knew it.

This dragon wasn’t just destroying targets.

It was turning the city into a graveyard that couldn’t thaw.

—-----------------------------------------------

Royal Air Force Northolt,  Military Airfield, Outer London

Engines roared on the runway. Ground crews sprinted through exhaust haze, shouting over alarms and radio chatter. Jets lined up, one after another, ready to launch into the sky where men were dying every minute.

A sergeant stood near the edge of the tarmac, headset pressed hard against his ear, listening to the scrambled voices coming in from London’s air battle. His knuckles had gone white around his clipboard without him noticing.

‘They’re getting slaughtered.’ He watched a mechanic slap the side of a jet’s fuselage and point toward the runway, yelling final checks. The pilot in the cockpit gave a stiff thumbs up. Then the air changed as it was full of pressure.

Something stepped into the runway zone without being announced, without alarms, without guards tackling him to the ground.

The sergeant turned and his first thought was anger then it became disbelief as a man stood in front of the jets without a care in the world.

He was old, tall and huge. Built like a man carved out of war itself. His posture was relaxed, hands folded behind his back, wearing priest robes that looked too small for his frame. His face held calm kindness, but his eyes looked like they had seen too many battles to no longer fear death.

“How—” the sergeant started.

A security officer shouted first. “YOU! Hands where I can see them! How did you get on this base?!”

More soldiers rushed in, rifles raised. “On the ground! Now!”

The old priest looked at the guns, then at the men holding them, and his expression softened. “I apologize,” He said, voice steady and polite. “I did not come to cause trouble.”

“Trouble?” An officer snapped. “There’s a war all over the country and you walk all the way here?”

“Forgive me, I don’t mean any harm, I simply heard that England has a dragon problem,” The priest replied, still calm. “So I came to help.”

The sergeant felt his temper flare. People were dying in London. His soldiers were in the air fighting something bullets didn’t even damage. And this man thought he could walk in and volunteer. “A human can’t help,” The sergeant said, voice rough. “Our jets can’t even scratch it.”

The priest laughed, not mocking, just amused. “Then your jets are not the problem. Your enemy is simply beyond them.”

A young soldier scoffed. “And what, you think you can help? You’re insane.”

The priest nodded once. “Perhaps. But I have experience fighting monsters.” He then took one step forward and the soldiers tensed, barrels tracking him. Then the old man exhaled slowly and rolled his shoulders and his robe tore. Cloth split under the pressure of his muscle that had no right being on a man his age. Broad chest, arms thick with strength and a back layered with scars and old strains that spoke of battles fought with nothing left in reserve.

The airfield fell silent except for the engines.

Someone whispered, “What the hell…”

The priest then raised his right hand and a blue light formed in his palm. It sharpened into a blade, clean and bright, radiating holy pressure that made nearby soldiers feel heat in their throats and a sudden urge to step back. 

A sword. A holy weapon.

The sergeant’s breath caught as he wondered what that blade was.

A few soldiers lowered their rifles without realizing it. Not out of trust but out of the instinct that told them aiming a gun at this man was pointless.

The officer recovered first. “Even if you have a sword, you can’t fly.”

The priest looked at the jet nearest to takeoff. Then he looked back at the officer. “I do not need to fly.” He bent his knees and then he jumped, clearing the distance and landed on the jet’s back with a heavy thud, boots planted on the fuselage as if it were solid ground. He stood upright, arms crossed, Durandal held loosely at his side.

The pilot popped the canopy open halfway, staring up at him with wide eyes. “Are you planning to stay up there?”

Vasco Strada looked down at the pilot and smiled. “Yes.”

“At that speed you’ll—” the pilot began.

“Fall?” Vasco finished as he chuckled. “It will take more than a toy to throw me off.”

The sergeant pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his mind from snapping. ‘This is madness. This is suicide.’ But then the comms crackled again. “Eagle Three is hit—engine is full of ice—mayday—!”

The sergeant’s stomach dropped. ‘People were dying right now.’ He looked at the priest standing on the aircraft like it was nothing. He looked at the holy blade. He looked at the runway full of jets that couldn’t hurt the dragon. And the sergeant felt rage twist into something else, a desperate hope. He hated that he needed it. He then  stepped forward and shouted up toward the jet. “Pilot! You’re taking him!”

The pilot stared. “Sir—”

“You heard me!” The sergeant barked. His voice shook but he didn’t care. “Get him to the dragon!”

An officer grabbed his arm. “Sir, we don’t know who that is!”

“We know what’s happening in the air!” the sergeant snapped back. “We know our people are dying! We know our attacks aren’t working! So tell me, what choice do we have?!”

The officer hesitated, jaw tight but no one had an answer.

The sergeant then looked up again. “Who are you?” He demanded, needing something to hold onto, some name he could report to someone if this went wrong.

The priest’s smile returned, gentle and calm even as engines screamed around him. “My name is Vasco Strada,” he said. “Just an old priest.”

The sergeant swallowed. His mouth tasted like exhaust and fear. “Right,” he muttered. “An old priest.” He then signaled the launch and the jet began to roll.

The pilot’s canopy was sealed. His breath came fast. His hands tightened on controls. Meanwhile Vasco didn’t brace for the flight, he didn’t crouch. He simply stood tall, arms still crossed, Durandal’s blue glow cutting through the haze.

Then the jet accelerated, the wind slammed into them as the jet lifted.

—---------------------------------

London sprawled beneath them in ruin and smoke. And ahead, in the clouds, the Grave Tyrant Drakon turned, its core pulsing brighter, as if it sensed something on the wind.

Vasco’s eyes narrowed slightly as a familiar feeling overcame him, the lust of battle. “All right,” He murmured, voice lost under the roar of the engine. “Let us see if you can take this old man.”

The jet carrying Vasco Strada tore through the clouds, engines screaming as it closed in on the Grave Tyrant Drakon. The dragon had already turned. It was no longer chasing the fleeing aircraft as tts hollow eyes burned brighter, the cyan light intensifying within its ribcage as it reoriented toward the new presence. It had felt the holy pressure and chose its new target.

“The dragon’s attention  is redirecting!” the squadron leader barked over comms. “It’s on the inbound jet—!”

The pilot under Vasco swallowed hard. “Sir, it sees us!”

Vasco did not answer. He watched the dragon carefully at the pulsing core inside its chest brightened. He could feel the necrotic pressure pressing against his lungs even from this distance.

The Drakon then inhaled and the core flared.

“CLIMB Up!” The leader shouted as it knew what it was about to do.

The pilot listening, yanked the controls, forcing the jet upward just as a beam of necrotic breath tore through the air where they had been a second earlier. The attack sliced through a distant high-rise building, cutting it cleanly in half. The building sagged and collapsed into the street below.

The jet shook violently from turbulence as the dragon surged forward, wings beating with enough force to destabilize nearby aircraft.

The Drakon then snapped its jaws at the jet but Vasco finally moved as he stepped off.

The pilot felt the weight leave the fuselage and almost shouted in panic—but then he saw it.

Vasco was standing on nothing for a split second before another jet roared beneath him. He landed on its wing with perfect balance, Durandal glowing blue against the smoke-choked sky.

The second pilot’s eyes widened. “You’ve got to be joking—”

“Hold steady,” Vasco said calmly.

The Drakon twisted midair and lashed its skeletal tail toward them. The tail slammed into the jet’s flank, tearing metal away. Warning alarms screamed in the cockpit.

The pilot fought to stabilize.

“Bank right!” Vasco commanded.

The pilot obeyed without questioning why.

As the jet rolled, Vasco leapt again, this time directly toward the dragon. Wind tore at his exposed body. The ground below was a blur of ice and flame.

But he raised Durandal and the blade shined brighter and the dragon met him head-on as its claws came first and Vasco swung Durandal as it cut through bone plating as if slicing paper. The dragon’s foreclaw separated at the joint, spinning away into the sky. Dark necrotic energy spilled from the severed limb, crackling before dissolving.

The Drakon roared, but it did not retreat. Its ribcage flared open and a wave of necrotic energy erupted outward then the shockwave hit. Jets around the dragon faltered as mana interference scrambled targeting systems. One aircraft lost lift and spiraled downward before the pilot recovered at the last second.

Vasco meanwhile felt it strike his body as his chest tightened. The necrotic pressure tried to invade, to weaken or drain him. But he planted Durandal onto the dragon’s shoulder and held fast. Blue light surged from the sword, pushing back the corruptive force.

“I see you wield death,” Vasco muttered. “But I have walked through worse.”

The Drakon twisted violently, trying to shake him off. It dove downward toward the city.

“Pull it up!” The squadron leader yelled.

Missiles streaked in from both sides. They detonated along the dragon’s wings, forcing it to alter trajectory. The blasts did not wound deeply, but they disrupted its descent enough to keep it from crashing directly into a residential district as the dragon climbed again.

As it ascended, bodies began to rise from frozen streets below but then the Reanimation Field activated as Dead civilians clawed their way upright, blue flames flickering in their hollow eyes. Soldiers on the ground shouted in horror as the fallen began moving. “Sir, the dead are moving!” 

Vasco saw it from above and his expression hardened. “You foul thing,” he said quietly.

The Drakon snapped its neck backward and tried to bite down toward him. But Vasco tore Durandal free and allowed himself to fall. The dragon’s teeth clashed shut where he had been.

He dropped past its ribcage and then he saw it, the core. Cyan-green energy suspended within bone, pulsing brighter before each major attack. The dragon opened its jaws again. This time frost gathered as it released a frozen Breath.

The jet pilots quickly scattered. “Spread out! Now!”

A cone of absolute cold engulfed two aircraft. One pilot ejected barely in time as his jet froze solid midair and shattered apart.

Vasco hit the dragon’s spine with one boot, using it as leverage, and launched himself toward the chest cavity.

The dragon sensed the motion and unleashed Necrotic Breath downward in a sweeping arc. The beam carved across rooftops and into the Thames, splitting water and stone alike.

The squadron leader saw the opening. “All aircraft! Suppression fire on wings! NOW!”

Cannons roared. Armor-piercing rounds hammered into the dragon’s wing membranes. The torn skeletal supports cracked further under sustained impact.

The Drakon shrieked as its flight stability faltered for a second.

But that was enough as Vasco drove Durandal forward and the blade pierced through the rib and into the glowing core. There was resistance for a heartbeat but it couldn’t stop Durandal from cutting as Holy light exploded outward with the core flickered violently. The dragon convulsed midair, its wings locking as necrotic energy surged uncontrollably.

“Pull away!” The squadron leader screamed as Jets broke formation.

The Drakon attempted to regenerate, bone fragments knitting, energy trying to stabilize.

But Durandal remained embedded as Vasco twisted the blade and the unmatched sharpness of the holy sword severed the core in two and the cyan light shattered. The Reanimation Field below flickered and died instantly. The undead collapsed back into stillness.

The dragon’s massive body lost cohesion. Its wings faltered completely and it began to fall.

Vasco tore Durandal free and kicked off the collapsing corpse. He dropped through open air as the skeletal titan plummeted toward the river.

“Catch him!” One of the pilots yelled and a jet surged beneath him. Vasco landed on its fuselage with a heavy impact, knees bending to absorb the force. Behind them, the Grave Tyrant Drakon struck the Thames. The impact sent water and bone fragments skyward in a violent explosion of steam and debris.

Silence followed as only smoke remained.

The pilot beneath Vasco exhaled shakily. “Is it… dead?”

Vasco watched the water carefully. Then he nodded once. “Yes.”

Unfortunately London was not the only battlefield as the Grave Tyrant’s fall over the Thames did not end the invasion. Across England, Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland, Dungeon ruptures continued to vomit monsters into cities and countryside alike. And every power that had hidden in the shadows was now forced into the open.

—--------------------------------------------

Whitehall District, London

As smoke rolled between government buildings and the streets were litered with broken glass. Sirens wailed in the far distance until they cut out one by one, replaced by the mechanical shriek of wings cutting through air as three Seraphim Exo-Units descended in formation above Whitehall.

They moved with tight formation as their wing-feathers flexed and adjusted. Blue energy nodes brightened at their joints. Their eyes locked onto the armored vehicles below, and the street lit up with concentrated beams that punched through metal and concrete. A carrier flipped onto its side and burned from the inside out. The heat warped nearby street signs.

Civil servants screamed and scattered into doorways. Soldiers shouted orders that nobody could hear properly.

“Fall back to the barricade!” A captain yelled, waving civilians behind a wrecked bus. “Keep your heads down! Keep moving!”

A rifleman fired away as the rounds sparked off white composite plating and fell harmlessly into the street.

“They’re not even reacting!” Another soldier shouted with his voice cracking.

It is then that the lead Exo-Unit pivoted its head towards the running crowd as its ocular glow intensified and it raised one arm slightly and the air around it tightened. As a second beam began charging.

But then before it could fire, a young man with brown hair, wearing a red coat whipping behind him stepped out of an alleyway and into the open street. 

‘They’re all going to die here.’ The young man thought as his eyes moved across the soldiers, the civilians pressed against walls, to then the burned-out vehicles. ‘The moment that beam sweeps the street, they won’t even have time to scream.’

A soldier quickly spotted him and tried to call him back. “Kid! Get back!”

But the young man didn't stop as he kept walking forward. A woman crouching behind a barricade, looked up at the teen with wide eyes. “Don’t—don’t go out there!”

But Georg simply lifted his hand and silver mist started to roll out from his palm and spilled across the pavement, expanding in a smooth circle, crawling over shattered glass and drifting around overturned cars. It thickened quickly, turning the street into a shifting fog bank.

“Do not panic.” Georg said without raising his voice, his words weren’t for the soldiers but to the civilians who had already lost their ability to think.

Quickly the Exo-Units turned in unison at the new arrival and their formation adjusted as if a silent command had been issued with the leading unit firing the beam of pure blue energy that punched into the fog.

Georg felt the impact ripple through the mist as his fingers tightened slightly. But the beam vanished inside the silver haze, swallowed without a trace.

A soldier stared. “What…?”

Georg’s breath remained steady. ‘Good, my sacred gear works against their attakcs.’

The Exo-Units seeing that their attack failed responded instantly as wing feathers detached and launched toward the teen in a metallic barrage as they quickly deduced that this phenomenon was being created by the new arrival. But as the feathered blades screamed through the air, the ever expanding mist swallowed them up and none emerged again.

The Seraphims paused midair for half a second. Their heads tilted slightly, processing. Their formation spacing widened.

Georg the exhaled as he used this chance to counter attack. “Redirect.”

The mist then rippled and the stolen beam and the feather blades reappeared behind the Exo-Units in a sudden burst. Two were impaled with their wing joints being pierced cleanly. Their bodies spasmed as their systems attempted to adapt. The third took the redirected beam across its back and dropping several meters and crashing to the ground.

Georg then used this chance to creat several magic cirlce of various elements and the from each circle he release a storm of magic that utterly distroy the machines. 

“Who are you?” The captain near the barricade found his voice a he watched the monster that they couldn’t destroy be defeated. 

But Georg didn’t look back as his attention stayed on three more units coiming closer as it noticed three of it’s members be destroyed and then raised their arms. “Move the civilians. Now.”

“Where?” the captain demanded.

Georg lifted his hand higher. The mist expanded outward, swallowing the airspace around Parliament. It climbed walls and rolled over rooftops. It became a dome of silver fog enclosing the street.

“Bring all civilians and injured into the mist,” Georg said, voice firm. “I will protect them.”

A soldier hesitated. “How do we know you won’t trap us?”

Georg’s jaw tightened. He did not like the question. But he understood why it was asked. He spoke anyway. “Because if I wanted you dead, I would not be standing here, helping you.”

The captain swallowed and turned. “You heard him! Move! Get them inside the fog!”

People began running toward the mist, dragging the wounded, carrying children, stumbling through smoke and debris. As they entered, the air felt cooler and quieter. The sound of beams and explosions dulled.

Inside the fog, Georg’s voice carried clearly. “Anything inside this mist is considered mine to proect” he said. 

Thethree new Exo-Unit rose higher and aimed downward, preparing to fire through sheer volume.

But Georg simply narrowed his eyes. ‘Go ahead. Waste your power. I can do this longer than you can.’ The mist then began to thicken further.

—------------------------------------

Windsor, London, England

Windsor Castle shuddered as the outer wall exploded inward with stone and dust blasted across the grounds as the hulking Chainbound Ravager stepped through the breach. It stood four meters tall with a dark hide and jagged bone plating. Chains could be seen fused into its flesh and hung from its shoulders and arms. As it finally entered the castle, it quickly released a roar that shook the building and then charged at the royal guards who were scattered.

While some raised rifles, others froze in fear. “Hold the line!” A commander yelled, voice already breaking. “Don’t let it reach the inner grounds!” Many quickly began to shoot the beast, but nothing they did could hurt it as the Ravager simply swung its massive chained arm. 

Many men were thrown across the courtyard. One hit a stone pillar and didn’t move again. A lone guard fell to his knees, staring at the monster with hollow eyes. ‘This is how we die.’

“Get behind me.” Then a voice cut through the panic as a blond haired young man with glasses, Arthur Pendragon stepped forward, his hand resting on the sword at his waist before he drew the sword, Caliburn, with a clean motion. Steel rang out and the weapon caught the light as if it welcomed battle.

Arthur’s chest rose as he inhaled once. ‘This is no longer training. If I fail here, they’ll die.’ But he didn’t hesitate. “Le Fay,” Arthur said without looking back. “Protect the civilians.”

“Yes, big brother!” Le Fay answered brightly, but her voice carried focus beneath the cheer. A witch hat bobbed as she moved. Her hands traced tight arcs through the air. Magic circles flared into existence, layered and precise until a sigil snapped outward and formed a barrier around fleeing families and injured guards.

A woman carrying a toddler slammed into the edge of the barrier and looked around in shock. When a stone hit the barrier, the woman noticed that it didn’t reach her and she finally realized that she and her child were safe, causing her legs to buckle as she sobbed.

Le Fay’s eyes flicked toward her and softened for half a second. Then she turned back toward the battlefield, voice sharp now. “Arthur! Go!”

Arthur nodded as he ran forward with the Ravager charging as well to confront his new opponent. They finally collided in the center of the courtyard as chains lashed toward Arthur’s head. 

He quickly ducked and rolled under the first strike and as the second chain came in low. Arthur stepped in and parried with Caliburn causing sparks to burst at contact with the metal screaming.

But then a third chain wrapped around his forearm and locked tight as the Ravager yanked and Arthur’s boots dug grooves into stone as he was dragged forward and his arm burned.

His shoulder threatened to dislocate but Arthur simply gritted his teeth and planted his feet harder. “I’m not… moving.”

The Ravager roared at the defiance and pulled again as the ground cracked beneath Arthur’s stance. His legs trembled, but he held. His eyes narrowed as he took note of the joint gaps in the monster’s armor plating.

“Le Fay!” Arthur shouted as he needed a bit of help.

Le Fay was all too happy to help as she snapped her fingers and casted a curse. “Restrain.” Black glyphs burst from the ground and locked around the Ravager’s legs. The magic didn’t stop it completely as it only slowed it for half a second.

Arthur quickly used that half second as he stepped forward and allowed the pull of the monster, ignoring the chain biting into his arm, and drove Caliburn into a joint gap beneath the rib plating with the blade piercing deep as dark blood spilled.

The Ravager in pain howled and jerked back with Arthur tearing the sword free and jumped back, breathing hard.

The Ravager’s body trembled. Its eyes burned hotter. Its posture lowered as it activated his Berserker Surge and Arthur felt it before the monster moved. The air pressure changed. The Ravager slammed forward with doubled speed and power.

But Arthur raised Caliburn and blocked the incoming attacks with the impacts driving him backward as stone shattered under his boots and his arms trembled. His teeth ground together. ‘If I keep blocking, my bones give out.’

Le Fay shouted from behind her barrier. “Brother—!”

“I’m fine!” Arthur barked, but the lie tasted bitter. His hands shook around the hilt. His forearm screamed.

And the Ravager swung again.

But this time he was ready as Arthur shifted his stance, redirecting the blow instead of taking it head-on. He then slipped inside the monster’s reach and drove Caliburn upward with the blade stabbing the body through the sternum. The bone plating cracked and the Ravager froze for a moment, chains hanging loose.

Arthur then twisted the sword and forced it deeper and the monster collapsed forward. Its chains clattered to stone. Dust drifted across its body as it stopped moving.

Arthur stood still, chest rising fast, Caliburn held at his side as his arm shook once, then steadied.

Le Fay ran to him, the barrier fading behind her as civilians remained clustered in the safe zone. She grabbed his sleeve. “You’re bleeding.”

Arthur looked down. The chain lash had ripped skin open around his forearm. He then flexed his fingers. “I can still hold my sword,” he said.

Le Fay’s eyes narrowed, unsure, but she trusted her brother's words. “Then do we keep going.”

Arthur lifted his gaze toward the smoke rising beyond the castle grounds. Distant roars echoed from the town as more monsters could be seen. He then tightened his grip and turned to his sister. “Stay close,” he said.

Le Fay nodded, a grin returning as if battle was a game she refused to lose. “Always.”

They turned and ran toward the next roar.

—-----------------------------------

Northern Ireland

The church bell tower had stopped ringing hours ago. Now the only sound was the whispering as it seeped through the graveyard fog, pressed against the chapel walls, and slid into the cracks beneath the heavy wooden doors where villagers huddled with their hands over their ears.

Inside, candles trembled. A priest held a rosary so tightly his knuckles looked bruised. Children cried into their mothers’ coats. Someone kept whispering prayers under their breath, repeating them faster every time the voices outside grew louder and the fog thickened around the graveyard gates.

A Veilwraith hovered above the tombstones, wrapped in decayed cloth that moved without wind. Its face was a hollow void, and within that void two pale lights burned, watching the chapel like it owned the dead beneath it and the whispers sharpened.

A woman inside the chapel gasped and fell to her knees, clutching her chest. “I can’t breathe,” she choked. “I can’t—” The air inside grew heavier making it difficult for everyone.

The Veilwraith drifted lower, slow and deliberate, as if it enjoyed letting the fear ripen.

Then a footstep crunched on gravel and the specter paused and turned toward the sound as a young man stepped out from behind a gravestone, black hair tied into a bun, shades covering his eyes despite the foggy gloom. His hands were relaxed at his sides, but his shadow did not match his posture as it moved on its own, stretching longer than it should and coiling near his feet like it were alive.

Connla tilted his head slightly, listening to the whispers. He could feel them pressing at the edges of his mind, trying to slip inside. Trying to tell him he was alone. Trying to tell him he was already dead. ‘This thing feeds on panic and despair. It wants us to break.’

The Veilwraith pulsedI as its Dread Induction Field spread outward. Fear hit Connla’s chest hard. His lungs tightened. His heart beat faster for a moment. A cold sweat formed along his spine. He felt memories rise that did not belong in this moment. Faces. Loss. Failure. The urge to turn and run. But Connla’s jaw tightened as he took one slow breath in. Then another.

He let the fear exist without letting it steer his body. “Not today,” He said quietly.

The Veilwraith drifted forward, irritated now. The air around it distorted as it began to Phase Drift, slipping into a half-real state where physical attacks would pass through.

Connla’s shadow meanwhile rose up in front of him like a wall and barrier as the Veilwraith’s next ability hit instantly, the Soul-Pressure Grip, an invisible force clamped down on Connla’s chest causing his ribs to creak and his throat tightened. The pressure tried to crush his lungs into silence.

But Connla’s shadow absorbed the force instead, swelling darker as it drank the pressure like water and Connla’s fingers flexed once as he didn’t rush or waste movement and spoke a single word. “Reflect.”

The shadow rippled and the crushing force snapped back toward the Veilwraith and struck it full-on. The specter recoiled midair, its shrouds fluttering violently as the pale lights in its void-face flared. The sound it made wasn’t a scream and sounded more like a screech.

Connla then stepped forward as his shadow broke apart into multiple spears that erupted from the ground and surrounding tombstones, stabbing into the Veilwraith from every angle. The attacks didn’t kill it immediately, but they forced it to stabilize and become real for a moment and as Connla felt the shift, he submerged into the darkness beneath his feet as the world went silent for half a heartbeat.

Then Connla rose out of another shadow behind the Veilwraith and formed a spear of darkness in his hand, the shape sharp and clean, and drove it forward with controlled force, piercing the Veilwraith’s shroud and striking the pale lights directly.

The Veilwraith froze, its cloth sagged and its void-face cracked with rippling distortion. Then the entire specter split apart into drifting ash that dissolved into the fog.

The pressure vanished instantly and the graveyard air loosened.

Inside the chapel, the priest stumbled forward as if he had been released from invisible chains. The villagers blinked in disbelief as the fog outside began to thin, revealing tombstones and grass again.

Connla stood alone in the graveyard, breathing steadily. A thin line of blood ran from the corner of his mouth where the fear-pressure had still managed to bite into him.

He wiped it away with the back of his hand as his shadow settled at his feet, quiet again. Connla then looked toward the chapel doors. “You’re safe now,” he said, voice low.

He turned away before anyone could thank him.

—-----------------------------------

Scotland

The radar station’s emergency lights painted the interior in red pulses. Civilians were packed inside, pressed against walls and equipment racks, listening to the storm outside. Every few seconds the building shook as something heavy slammed into the cliffs below.

The soldiers stationed there had already expended most of their ammunition on smaller creatures and had taken heavy casualties. They were exhausted. And now two massive shapes crawled up from the coastline.

Stormcarapace Scorpions, their jagged carapaces were layered with stone plating. Blue light leaked from fractures along their bodies. Their tails arched high, stingers crackling with violet lightning that turned the air sharp and metallic.

One of the soldiers on the station’s balcony whispered, “We can’t stop those.”

A civilian behind him started crying. “We’re going to die.”

“Quiet,” Another muttered, but his voice shook.

Outside, on the cliff edge, a white-haired teen stood alone, Siegfried’s breath fogged in the cold air. Wind tugged at his clothes. He didn’t move from his position, because behind him were people who couldn’t escape.

He then drew all three blades, Gram in his right hand, Balmung in his left and behind him, a silver Dragon Arm unfolded from his back, holding Nothung with unnatural steadiness. The Dragon Arm glowed as Twice Critical activated. Power surged through his body and settled into his muscles with heavy clarity.

Siegfried’s eyes narrowed as he watched the scorpions advance. ‘If I let them reach the building, everyone inside dies.’

The first scorpion then screeched and launched forward as its tail snapped down using its ability, Lightning Stinger. The bolt ripped across the air toward Siegfried’s torso.

But Siegfried simply crossed Gram and Balmung, letting the lightning strike the blades and detonated into sparks that sprayed outward. The shock ran up his arms and threatened to lock his joints. But he simply gritted his teeth and forced his body to stay loose.

“Not enough,” he muttered. He then sprinted forward and the scorpion lifted its pincers, ready to crush. But Siegfried ducked under the first pincer and drove Gram upward into the creature’s underside plating where the armor was weaker. The blade bit deep, splitting chitin and stone causing the scorpion to shriek.

Then the second scorpion charged immediately, trying to flank the teen with its pincers swung wide toward Siegfried’s ribs.

But the Dragon Arm moved without hesitation as Nothung met the pincer strike and held, metal screamed and stone plating cracked. The impact would have broken bones if it hit his body. Instead it slammed into the Dragon Arm’s strength and stopped.

Siegfried’s breath came out harsh. ‘Good. The arm holds.’ He then twisted his hips and spun.

Balmung cut across the first scorpion’s leg joints, severing two limbs cleanly. Gram followed through into the abdomen. The second scorpion tried another Lightning Stinger.

But Siegfried stepped in close, refusing to give it distance as he drove Nothung into the base of its tail, pinning it for a moment, and then he brought Gram down with full force causing the tail to split and the lightning discharge failed mid-build, sparking uselessly across cracked carapace.

Siegfried roared and surged forward, all three swords carving across joints, underside seams, and the softer gaps where plating overlapped.

Finally the first scorpion collapsed and the second tried to crawl backwards. But Siegfried didn’t let it as one final swing took its head and both monsters fell into pieces across the cliffside, twitching once before going still, lightning faded from their dead tails.

And silence returned in the wind.

Siegfried stood breathing heavily, shoulders rising and falling, sweat cooling fast against his skin. His hands tightened around his swords as he listened for more movement.

Behind him, the station door creaked open. A soldier stepped out slowly, staring at the severed scorpions. “You… what are you?”

Siegfried didn’t turn fully. He kept watching the coastline. “A problem,” he said quietly. “For anything that comes closer.” He then sheathed Gram first. then Balmung and finally the Dragon Arm faded with Siegfried hold Nothung on his left hand.

Siegfried finally looked back at the radar station. “Keep them inside,” he ordered. “If more come, I want the civilians behind reinforced walls.”

The soldier nodded quickly. “Yes.”

Siegfried turned back to the storm and waited for the next breach.

—-------------------------------------------

Oxford, England

The university courtyard was a trap as the collapsed lecture halls leaned inward, their shattered stone and twisted beams forming a broken perimeter around panicked students. Webbing stretched between statues and pillars, thick strands glistening with venom. The air smelled of rot and damp stone.

At the center of the devastation, a massive shape crawled over the ruins, the Bloodmaw Broodmother, its abdomen pulsed grotesquely, swollen and segmented. Smaller spiderlings spilled from beneath it in waves, skittering over debris and walls. Venom dripped from curved fangs as it lifted itself higher, surveying the trapped humans.

Meanwhile, students screamed and pressed against the courtyard fountain. “We can’t get out!” One shouted, tugging uselessly at the webbing.

“It’s coming closer!”

The Broodmother hissed and launched a stream of webbing that slammed across the only clear exit, sealing it shut.

Then blue fire cut across the web. “Fire Seal!” The web ignited and shriveled instantly. Diana Cavendish stepped forward, wand raised, her posture upright and controlled despite the chaos. Her uniform was torn at the hem, but her expression remained composed.

‘I should contain the brood first. The mother will commit when she sees weakness.’ She thought as she flicked her wand in sharp, disciplined motions. Broken desks and stone fragments lifted into the air and slammed together into makeshift barricades. Spiderlings leapt toward her from multiple directions.

But Diana didn’t look at them individually as she made a quick calculation. “Piercing Lance.” Three concentrated bolts shot from her wand and struck spiderlings through the thorax, pinning them to the ground. Venom splashed across the pavement, hissing where it touched stone.

A student grabbed her sleeve. “What are you?”

Diana didn’t glance back. “A student. Now move behind the barricade.” More spiderlings poured from the collapsed hall behind her. One launched itself at her face but Diana rotated her wrist and released a narrow burst of force that knocked it aside without breaking her stance.

The Broodmother seeing the death of its children let out a guttural screech as its abdomen flexed and used its Venom Spray, a green stream arced toward the students.

But Diana’s wand snapped upward. “Barrier.” A translucent shield formed just in time. The venom splattered against it and ran down in smoking rivulets. Diana’s jaw tightened slightly. ‘If that shield fails, even once, we’ll die.’

The Broodmother climbed the side of a half-destroyed tower and leapt, the ground shook as it landed inside the courtyard.

Students screamed again but Diana stepped forward. “Stay calm!” She commanded sharply. “If you panic, you make this harder to protect you.”

The Broodmother reared, legs stabbing downward.

But Diana drew a tight circle in the air. “Expulsion Burst.” A compressed sphere of magic formed at the tip of her wand and launched forward. It struck the Broodmother’s underside just as it exposed its abdomen to attack. The impact ruptured the softer plating beneath causing the Broodmother to shriek in pain and stagger backwards, ichor spilling across the courtyard stones.

It tried to spawn again, but Diana didn’t allow it as she advanced, boots crunching over broken glass. “End.” A focused beam punched through the wound she had created and the Broodmother convulsed once and collapsed, its legs curling inward as the remaining spiderlings scattered in confusion before going still.

Silence fell over the courtyard except for the sound of students breathing heavily.

One boy stared at her. “You… you just killed that thing.”

Diana lowered her wand. “Yes.” She turned to face them fully now. “Evacuate in an orderly manner. Stay together. No running.” Her tone allowed no argument.

Students began moving, guided by the barricades she had positioned earlier as Diana scanned the rooftops and broken halls. ‘That was only one nest. If there is another portal and more monsters come, this campus will fall.’ She tightened her grip on her wand. “Head toward the main road,” she instructed. “I will clear the path.” And she walked forward into the smoke around her various wizards and witches could be seen fighting and helping the various students.

—-----------------------------------

London Suburbs, England

Flames licked at the roofs of terraced houses as shadows darted between them. A cluster of Ashwing Fiends descended from the sky, leathery wings snapping open as they dive-bombed the street. Their eyes burned orange. Ember-lined claws scraped against brick and asphalt, leaving trails of heat.

One fiend smashed through a window and dragged a man halfway outside before being shot in the back by a soldier’s rifle, unfortunately the bullet did little but annoy it as the fiend turned and roared.

Then a blade cut through its spine mid-flight, revealing it to be Irina Shidou, who landed lightly, holy sword glowing faintly in her hands. “Papa, to your left!”

Father Touji Shidou pivoted instantly. His sword flashed and split another fiend from shoulder to hip. “Stay sharp,” He said without turning, voice calm despite the chaos. “They move in packs.”

“Yes, papa!” Irina replied, already stepping into position behind him.

They stood back-to-back in the middle of the street as Three fiends circled above and then one dove down.

Touji then stepped forward, timing precisely, and cut upward. The holy blade severed the creature cleanly before it could extend its claws.

Irina ducked under a second dive and also thrust her sword piercing through the fiend’s chest. She twisted and kicked it off her blade before it could grab her as heat flared behind her.

“Down!” Touji barked and Irina listened as she dropped flat just as a third fiend roared past overhead, claws grazing Touji's shoulder. He caught its wrist mid-air with his free hand.

The fiend snarled and tried to pull away. But Touji's grip tightened. “You chose your opponents poorly.” He snapped the fiend’s arm backward with brutal force and drove his blade through its skull in one clean motion and fell at his feet.

Irina sprang back up, breathing hard but smiling. “You’re slowing down,papa.” She teased lightly.

Touji allowed a brief glance at her. “You are talking too much.”

Another fiend then came down upon them and entered its Rage Surge, its body glowing brighter as it charged directly at Irina and she raised her sword with a bit of fear that tried to creep into her chest. ‘Don’t freeze. Papa is here. I trained for this. I am not a child.’

The fiend then lunged and Irina stepped aside at the last second and sliced across its exposed flank. Touji followed instantly, finishing it before it could recover. They didn’t need to look at each other to know their rhythm as they had trained like this for years.

When the final fiend dropped and the street fell quiet except for crackling flames, Touji lowered his sword slowly and turned to Irina. “You’ve improved.”

Irina wiped blood from her cheek and grinned, eyes bright despite the smoke in the air. “I’m just trying to keep up, papa.”

Touji studied her for a second longer as he saw the steadiness in her stance. The lack of hesitation and the control in her breathing, pride flickered briefly in his eyes. “Good,” he said quietly. “Because this is only the beginning.”

Behind them, civilians began emerging from houses. Irina sheathed her sword and helped an elderly woman stand. “We just have to stay together,” she said gently. “And we’ll clear the next block in no time.”

Touji didn’t say anything as he looked down the burning street toward the distant skyline of London and quickly heard more roars. He tightened his grip on his blade, father and daughter then advanced together into the next wave.

Done. Tell me what you think and if I made any mistakes? What do you think will happen next?